


The Cat's Out

by hailbabel



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Touch Aversion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29785980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailbabel/pseuds/hailbabel
Summary: Sophia Fitzwilliam knew in her heart that she was fundamentally changed since running away from her mother's house to marry a man who turned out to be little more than a henchman. Something had been done to her that could not be undone, and she needed to talk about it with someone who wouldn't wring their hands or cry. She needed someone neutral, someone solid. Someone who wouldn't be surprised. Someone, perhaps, from Greek Street.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4
Collections: Harlots Finish Your Fic Fest





	1. Seeking Answers

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place the morning after "Scandalous" from Sophia's perspective. You don't need to read "Scandalous" to understand anything here, though it could provide context. Tags for themes and characters will be added as the story progresses. The majority of this story is written barring edits, so chapters should come often and will be added until the story is concluded.

Sophia’s eyes opened well before sunrise and her room was still quite dark. There was a moment of peace before she remembered what had happened the previous day. She squeezed her eyes shut and all she could see was her mother’s face, cold and hard as she dismissed Holland and his father. How could she have ruined Sophia’s plans so easily? If only she knew what she had done.

This angry thought, however, was still better than the other thing. Sophia popped up in bed before she could remember what else she had seen that day.

Dawn crept in steadily, and when Maryanne finally knocked softly on Sophia’s door to rouse her, she was already pacing and chewing her nails.

Sophia allowed herself to be dressed grudgingly. She frowned as Maryanne brushed her hair, huffed as she was slipped into her stays and frock, and only mumbled a “thank you” as Maryanne took her leave. She felt a bit wretched for being so surly, and reminded herself that it wasn’t Maryanne’s fault that she was mad at her mother. Isabella had been the one keeping secrets from her as long as she had known. Longer than that, even, Sophia realized with a hollow kind of ache.

Sophia herself had once been a secret, in fact. She had spent the first fifteen years of her life being hidden and cared for in a boarding school in Chelsea until only a year ago when William North had come and whisked her into a completely different life. And that entire time, her mother hadn’t even deigned to tell her the reason that she had to stay hidden for so long. Sophia knew that it had something to do with her father and the circumstances of her birth, but even that Sophia had to pry from her mother and the context of the only letter her mother had ever written her.

Once upon a time, Sophia had simply assumed that her mother was vain, that her lover had been a servant and that Isabella would never admit to it, because of her reputation. Of her mother’s vanity, Sophia was certain. She had observed her mother and the way she dressed, the care with which she chose just the right set of jewellery to match her outfits. How she took any opportunity to dress opulently. How she admired her own reflection in a mirror, or polished surface. How she fussed over her reputation, and the face she presented to society. This last point she had relaxed on a bit, but the change seemed more the exception rather than the rule.

But how could vanity be enough? How could simple vanity move her to give up her only child? To not want to hold her, or see her grow? To not want her at all?

Sophia had no answers for these questions, though they did bother her. To be fair, they bothered her just about every day, circling around in the back of her mind. Today, however, the forefront of her thoughts were all taken up with Holland Hargrove. The poor boy had looked so sullen and defeated when Isabella had rejected Lord Hargrove’s offer. She didn’t know what she was condemning that family and that boy to.

It was true that Sophia didn’t love him, and that he didn’t love Sophia. But they needed each other. Holland was desperate for a saviour, and Sophia. Well, Sophia was not fit to marry. But no one had to know about that.

Sophia tried to convince herself that it was romantic in its own way, but it still made her ache. She turned her thoughts to Edmund and his betrayal. At least she could hate him outright. At least the burning in her chest was justified.

He had used her. Planned to sell her. And he had taken something from her that she could never get back.

Sophia pushed that thought away. Down, down, deep into some place she wouldn’t have to think about.

She stabbed at her breakfast viciously.

Sophia was at breakfast alone. Thankfully, her mother had not yet come down, or else she would have had something to say about her behaviour. It was not completely out of the ordinary for her to stay abed especially long on mornings when there was no business to attend to. Sometimes, Sophia thought it was because she didn’t want to see her, but for the most part she enjoyed the space to think without her mother fussing over her.

And she did fuss a lot. Whenever Sophia wanted to go out with a friend, or stay over-long out of the house, or indeed sometimes when she got up to leave the room, Isabella was there with a question or five. Where was she going? When was she coming back? Why doesn’t she just stay home where Isabella could keep an eye on her?

It was at these times that Sophia had to remind herself that Isabella did it out of concern, and that she loved her mother. Or else, she thought she was beginning to. They had only properly known each other a little over a year, after all, and there was still so much they were getting to know about each other.

For instance, Sophia noticed that Isabella wrinkled her nose when she was amused at something. The first time Sophia had seen this, she laughed aloud. The little similarity delighted her and she liked to think it was something she inherited from her mother. She had done it all her life, not thinking much of it, not knowing that they had this little thread of commonality between them. She also knew that her mother wrote and painted and played right-handed, as was proper, but every so often she favoured her left hand, as though she had once been left-handed until the habit had been beat out of her.

As Sophia was idly mashing a strawberry into a pulp with her fork, she was turning over the idea that she should apologise to her mother for her outburst yesterday. Isabella didn’t know what was going on, couldn’t possibly know. And yet, the thought of opening up and telling her made Sophia feel exposed. Isabella was too close, too always there all of the time for Sophia to feel okay with her possibly judging her about her decision. About what had happened to her. She would have something to say, of course. Perhaps something like, “you’re too young to make this decision”. And, God forbid, if she told Isabella what happened with Edmund, how he had… Anyway. She would probably gasp and say, “Sophia! You should have come home!”

Sophia scoffed at her strawberry pulp, earning her an inquisitive look from the kitchen maid who’d come out to start clearing away plates.

Sophia blushed and stood from the ruin of her breakfast. She thanked the maid for taking away the plates and hurried from the room.

She hadn’t intended to seek out the footman. She had only wanted to get away from the maid and out of the house, and she knew that she had to tell someone what had happened to her. Someone who wasn’t her mother. Someone neutral. Someone who wouldn’t be surprised.

The coachman, Mr. Waggoner, beamed at her when she found him having his own breakfast in the little dining area off the kitchen where the servants ate. He had a nice man with the full kind of face that looked especially genuine and happy when he smiled. He was generally formal, as his occupation demanded, except when it came to Sophia. Sophia liked him all the more for this, as there were plenty enough stuffy aristocrats without having to deal with that kind of attitude at home. Mr. Waggoner was never curt with Sophia, he was always happy to see her.

“Of course, little Miss,” he’d said when she asked him to take her in the carriage. “Where is it you’re wanting to go?”

Sophia put on her most nonchalant expression and said, “Greek Street.”

And with those two words, Mr. Waggoner’s smile slipped. It slipped off so quickly and completely that Sophia was sure she could hear it shatter on the floor.

“Ah, Miss,” he began delicately. “If I might be so bold as to say, but your Ma would shout me out of existence if I took you there.”

“She wouldn’t have to know, she’s still in bed!” Sophia said, dropping any pretense of nonchalance. This, however, seemed to make it worse.

Mr. Waggoner put down his cup of coffee and took on a stern look, which he never did with her. It looked especially severe on his usually kindly face.

“Miss Sophia, I’m sorry, but I just won’t do it. Do you know how much a temper your Ma got into last time you went missing? I thought she’d sack every single one of us. I’ve never seen her so mad! And if you went missing again your mother would get her lady to skin me alive.” Mr. Waggoner shook his head as he spoke and got a far-off, slightly terrified look on his face. Sophia didn’t quite know what he meant, but she dismissed her plan and gave up on him entirely, stalking out of the room.

Sophia was glad that Maryanne was nowhere around for that conversation. She’d have tattled to Isabella in an instant, but not before giving Sophia a good earful about why she shouldn't just go off on her own and worry her mother. Aside from Maryanne, the rest of the staff were generally… well, disinterested. They didn’t find it necessary to meddle in whatever Sophia was doing, or else even really take an interest in her as a person. They did their jobs and nothing else, a fact that Sophia was not above taking full advantage of. True they wouldn’t keep a secret if Isabella asked them directly, but neither did they ask what Sophia was doing. Sophia enjoyed Mr. Waggoner for his casual disregard for propriety, and she even had a certain kind of fondness for Maryanne’s mothering, but having servants who kept to themselves was useful.

Sophia pressed her lips into a tight line as she set out from St. James trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. She wondered if perhaps she should turn back, go into the house and go up to bed. If she was even ready to tell someone what had happened to her.

The spike of self-loathing at her own cowardice kept her feet moving.


	2. Whores and Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia arrives at Greek Street and prepares to relive the events of her disaster of a marriage.

When she arrived at Greek Street, a girl she didn’t recognise opened the door.

The girl was wearing a salacious smile and her rumpled hair spilled down from its bindings to land on her bosom. Sophia noticed that the front of her dress was unpinned and her face prickled with a mix of embarrassment at noticing and irritation at the untidiness.

The girl’s smile evaporated. “I thought you was a cull,” she said. Her face drooped with disappointment, but she perked up again as something occurred to her. “Or, maybe you like ladies? We get your sort here sometimes.”

Sophia blinked.

“My sort?” she asked.

The girl smiled a bit, perhaps misinterpreting her question as interest.

“Yeah, you know. Wealthy ladies married to men who don’t know how a cunt works.”

Sophia blushed. If she hadn’t just walked all the way here, she would have turned around and left.

“I’m not a cull,” she said, more shrill than she intended. “I’m here to see someone.”

Mercifully, before the girl could say anything else embarrassing, a voice called from within the house.

“Who’s at the door? You’re flapping the wrong lips to be making any money-- oh!” A red-haired, round-faced woman that Sophia recognised as Fanny poked her head into the doorway over the girl’s shoulder. “Sophia, what are you doing ‘ere?”

“She said she was here to see someone,” said the girl whose name Sophia still didn’t know. She was eyeing Sophia as if trying to assess whether she could be persuaded to let herself be taken to a room. She was looking a bit too eager, and it was making Sophia uncomfortable.

“I’m looking for Nancy,” Sophia said.

“Nancy?” said the girl. “She’s not been here since--”

“Since she went to see a very important client this morning,” Fanny said overtop of the other girl who looked at once confused and offended at the intrusion.

“No,” the girl started. “She left last--”

But, just then, Fanny reached around her and took Sophia rather abruptly by the arm.

“But she’ll be back soon,” Fanny said loudly, giving the girl a pointed look. She turned back to Sophia and said, “D’you want some tea?”

Fanny didn’t wait for Sophia to answer as she half-guided, half-shoved her through the foyer while she hissed something over her shoulder at the girl.

“But how am I gonna get a cull if I’m off fetching--”

“No fussing,” Fanny said. “Or I’ll have you scrubbing out the chamber pots tonight. Go get her!”

Sophia got the impression she wasn’t meant to hear this part of the conversation and wondered what would make Fanny so abrasive. She remembered her as being sweet and accommodating when Sophia had been here last. How strange, she thought.

Fanny ushered Sophia quickly out of the foyer and toward the sitting room. A man and woman were exiting the room just as Fanny and Sophia arrived and stepped aside so they could get through. The man adjusted his breeches and avoided eye contact as he took his leave. The woman, on the other hand, looked rather pleased with herself. Her hair was mussed, and her stomacher had been completely removed, exposing her stays underneath. Her bodice hung open loosely, lewdly, and and the woman tucked something between her pale breasts with a smile. Sophia, upon realizing she was staring, averted her eyes to the ceiling. 

Fanny eyed the woman sharply as she sauntered away with her loot.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said to Sophia. “I’ll send someone round with a pot of tea. I’m sure Nancy will be back from her, er, errand here shortly. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to take care of a bit of business.”

The door snapped shut behind Fanny, followed by the sound of low and pointed bickering Sophia suspected had something to do with money.

Sophia sat on one of the sofas arranged around a coffee table and ome time later, a woman bustled in with a serving tray with a teapot and a couple of cups. It was the same woman Sophia had seen leaving the room. She’d rearranged her hair and pinned her stomacher back into place. She had dark hair and a long face and nose. Sophia didn’t particularly find her attractive, and wondered what her cull had seen in her.

The woman, noticing her staring, gave her a sly smile as she set down the tray.

“Thank you,” Sophia said, trying to sound gracious, and poured herself a cup of tea.

“Fanny says you’re waiting for someone. Would you like some company while you wait?”

The woman leaned into the word “company” and Sophia knew she didn’t mean to chat about the weather.

“No, thank you, I’m fine.”

“You sure? I’m very accommodating,” the woman said. She sat down next to Sophia, indecently close. Her thigh pressed against Sophia’s through the fabric of her dress and she placed one hand on Sophia’s knee. The contact made Sophia feel vile. And, worse than that, it was as though her insides had simply vanished. She was nothing but a shell, frozen in place. She wanted to move, to politely tell the woman to not touch her, to scream, to stand up and walk away. Too many wants crowded the space in her brain and she simply sat there trying not to tremble.

A muffled voice sounded from somewhere in the house.

“Deena?” It sounded like Fanny.

The woman pulled away from Sophia.

“Well, that’s me,” she said. “Time to go entertain.”

She stood and winked at Sophia, unaware of the havok her presence had caused. When she left, shutting the door behind herself, the suffocating pressure was sucked out of the room and Sophia sagged a little in her seat, glad to be alone again.

She put down her teacup with one shaky hand and scrubbed at the place where Deena had touched her on the knee until the rubbing of the fabric made her palm hot.

It wasn’t very long before there was a knock at the door and Nancy appeared. She seemed… out of sorts for some reason Sophia couldn’t decipher. Her expression was a bit agog, her hair more ruffled than normal, and she was breathing rather hard. Did she run here?

“Sophia!” Nancy greeted her, her tone a bit breathy and sharp, as though she were trying to catch her breath. Nancy always was a bit harsh, but not necessarily in a mean way. More direct and to the point than anything. Sophia didn’t quite appreciate it, but still, the both of them had always managed to be pleasant to each other if they were in the same room.

For the most part, it hadn’t been an issue for the two of them. Nancy always seemed to be leaving a room whenever Sophia entered it. The only exception to this was when Sophia and her mother happened to bump into Nancy on their walks. It happened quite often, now that Sophia thought about it, but she supposed they didn’t live all that far away.

She didn’t specifically dislike Nancy, but neither did she like her overmuch. For someone who never seemed to have two guineas to rub together, Nancy was quite informal, and rather commanding. Sophia couldn’t see where this authority came from, and something about it galled her.

But despite that, or perhaps because of it, she was the perfect person for the conversation Sophia wanted to have. Needed to have.

“So,” Nancy said a bit awkwardly. “Fan said you was here to see me. What brings you?”

Nancy edged around the room like someone trying to decide if a cat was safe to pet, or if it was going to scratch. Considering their last encounter, Sophia really couldn’t blame her. In fact, she was rethinking this whole idea.

Sophia was at a complete loss as to how she was supposed to approach her mother’s apparent lover. And so she turned to the only protocol she knew.

“Um. Yes. Well. Tea?”

She was painfully aware of how awkward the words had tumbled out.

Nancy narrowed her eyes a bit.

“Sure,” she said carefully, taking a seat on the sofa catty-corner to where Sophia was seated.

Sophia busied herself pouring a cup and refreshing her own so as to avoid making eye-contact.

It occurred to her that Nancy was probably uncomfortable because of how Sophia had caught her with her mother, and she tried not to follow that thought back to the memory of the two of them together. She decided the best course of action was to not confront the situation at all. No, nothing good could come from that line of questioning. Besides, what was she supposed to say?

“What’s going on with you and my mother?” Sophia blurted before she could stop herself, silently cursing herself for caving.

Nancy choked on her tea. She thumped her chest with one fist, trying to dislodge the liquid before it killed her.

Sophia fiddled with her teacup. That could have gone better. But there was no backtracking. She decided to press forward.

“Are you…” she began tentatively. “Is she your keeper?”

This got a laugh from Nancy. It was an abrupt bark of a laugh, and Sophia blushed with shame. She didn’t know much about how this worked, but she knew it was not unusual for a person of means to “keep” a lover.

“Nah,” Nancy said finally in that offhanded way she had. She grinned and said, “It’s the pretty ones who get keepers.”

Sophia pressed her lips together and looked away from Nancy. She didn’t especially find the woman to be attractive, but she supposed that wasn’t really up to her. Her dark hair was quite messy, and her features sharp like a man’s. Not just her face, either. Nancy’s coat was draped over the back of the sofa, and her shirtsleeves were rolled up to her elbows. Her forearms were corded with taut, lean muscle, and her slim waist narrowed down to sharp hips. It was like she was all bones and muscle.

“So, then what are you to her?”

It was Nancy’s turn to look sheepish. The effect was at odds with her rakish features.

“I think you ought to talk to your Ma about that,” she said. She paused for a moment and then, “She feels awful about what happened.”

Far from being assuaged, this made Sophia more frustrated.

“How do you know how she feels when I don’t? She treats me like a child.” Sophia snapped. Immediately after the words left her mouth, Sophia’s face coloured with shame.

She thought Nancy might laugh at her again, or maybe she would yell.

Nancy took a long look at Sophia before setting her cup down and leaning back on the sofa. She even sat like a man with one arm thrown back over the sofa, and one leg stretched out before her, knees splayed. It made Sophia a little uncomfortable, the dissonance between male and female, and the casual blending of the two in this one person. But it also felt open and genuine, if not necessarily proper.

“S’pose you’re all grown up now, hm?”

Sophia opened her mouth to speak, to say that she was seventeen and not a child. The very thought of it was childish, and made her yet more ashamed. She had been an ass lately, and she knew it.

“I don’t know what I am,” Sophia admitted. “I’ve done… Something happened to me. While I was away. Something I haven’t told my mother about. But, I’m not the same person I was when I left.”

Nancy didn’t say anything, she just watched Sophia expectantly.

Just then, there was an overly loud knock at the door and Fanny poked her head in. She was wearing an exaggerated smile and spoke a little too loudly.

“Just checking how you two are getting on in here. Do you need some more tea?”

Nancy looked up at her and some significant look passed between them like they were communicating something Sophia shouldn’t be privy to.

“We’re alright, Fan,” Nancy said.

When Fanny had gone and Nancy turned back to her, Sophia must have been making a face, because Nancy said, “Don’t go judging her too hard. Girls like Fanny kept this place open for you to shelter in.” It was an honest, bald statement. But not unkind.

Sophia, seeing how Nancy must have interpreted her thoughts, actually laughed. It was a good laugh, one that shook the melancholy out of her chest.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. It’s not her I judge.” It was mostly true. While she could not honestly say that she didn’t judge the harlots who worked here, she didn’t bear any ill will toward them.

Nancy stifled a snort of a laugh. “Well, don’t go judging the men too harshly, either. It’s their money pays our bills.

Sophia scoffed haughtily. “At least they pay,” she said before considering what she was implying.

Nancy stiffened. Suddenly, she was sitting bolt upright in her seat, and her hand went reflexively to the birch rod that was leaned placidly against her knee. There was something on her face like fear and maybe even anger. When she spoke it was in a careful, clipped tone. “Sophia. Did something happen while you were away? Did someone hurt you?”

The emphasis she put on the word “hurt” made it clear just exactly what she meant to ask. Did someone violate you, Sophia?

Sophia supposed she should have felt grateful that someone would ask, would care enough to be angry over it, but she huffed and rolled her eyes. In truth, it reminded her of her mother. It was grating.

“That’s exactly something my mother would say. I was hoping you would be different.”

Nancy seemed to cool reluctantly. She placed the birch across her lap and withdrew her hand from it deliberately.

“Alright,” she said mostly to herself. “Alright. Come on, tell me what happened. I won’t get upset.” Her tone sounded forced, but gentle.

Sophia dithered. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to go on with this story.

Nancy stood up from the sofa and went to the sideboard against one wall where a few unmarked bottles stood. She took one and poured a hefty amount into her tea. She held it up to Sophia in offering.

Sophia nodded, and Nancy poured a much smaller measure into her cup.

It did not taste good, and it burned going down her throat. It wasn’t wine, and it tasted twice as awful as anything she’d ever imbibed, but she was grateful for it. A warm, loose feeling began to spread down her back and Sophia felt better. She opened her mouth to speak, wondering where to start.

“I loved him,” she said, the words feeling awkward as they left her mouth. “At least, I thought I did.”


End file.
